


Splintering

by Nerdylittleangelenthusiast (Anderseeds)



Series: Supernatural Works [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Attempted Rape/Non-Con (not by Crowley), Bottom Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Has Self-Worth Issues (Supernatural), Hopeful Ending, Hurt Castiel (Supernatural), Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping, M/M, Overstimulation, Rescue, Self-Doubt, Self-Hatred, Sex Toys, Top Crowley (Supernatural)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:47:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28268616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anderseeds/pseuds/Nerdylittleangelenthusiast
Summary: The woman propping his head up hunched over him, her red hair spilling over her shoulders and obscuring the ceiling from view. She had kind eyes and prominent nasolabial folds from a lifetime of smiling, but these features did little to ease Castiel’s distress.“This is your church, my Lord,” said the woman, the reverence clear in her voice. “We’re your flock. We searched for you for so long.”A cult fixated on Castiel from his time as God get their hands on Castiel through a demon deal. Crowley catches news of this and acts.
Relationships: Castiel/Crowley (Supernatural)
Series: Supernatural Works [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2068692
Comments: 3
Kudos: 50





	Splintering

**Author's Note:**

> Here I am, falling deeper and deeper into rarepair hell.

Consciousness returned to Castiel slowly, his mind guided out of the dark by a distant sense of company. He peeled open his eyes to the absence of a ceiling, the beams of a gable roof visible high above, spiderwebs crawling between them. The style was immediately recognisable as being from a church and Castiel attempted to drag himself upright to examine the rest of his surroundings, to take stock of them, but he fell back down under the weight of his body before he could. His limbs were heavy and uncooperative, moving only fractionally in the direction he tried to compel them, and the disorientation and nausea that had begun falling over him in waves only increased the difficulty of movement. He couldn’t even curl his hands into fists. That was when the panic set in, because he could deal with waking up in foreign places; he’d done it plenty of times before and come out of the situation relatively unscathed, but he’d never woken up like this, so heavy and weak and helpless.

“It’s okay,” came a woman's voice, soft and cloying. “You aren’t in danger here.”

A thin hand slid behind his head and propped it up. With a sharp intake of breath, Castiel realised he was surrounded. Not in the manner of having a dozen or so people around him, as was traditional, but surrounded by at least a hundred people, likely more. And they were all staring at him with wide, eager eyes. 

Beyond the mass of people were several stained glass windows, their immense size sending shades of red and yellow and blue and green dappling across the crowd, and Castiel's insides lurched at the realisation that the figure depicted in all of them was _himself_. One displayed him standing tall and proud, while another had him breaking a cross in his bare hands, the sun a rustic halo behind him.

“Whe-where am I?” he asked with difficulty, the pitch of his voice even deeper than usual. He remembered a sudden weight falling over him, a sound loud in his ears, and nothing after that, certainly not how he’d ended up here and or where here even was. “Why-?” He cut off, unsure of how to proceed. He had so many _why_ ’s on the mind that he couldn’t condense them into a single question.

The woman propping his head up hunched over him, her red hair spilling over her shoulders and obscuring the ceiling from view. She had kind eyes and prominent nasolabial folds from a lifetime of smiling, but these features did little to ease Castiel’s distress.

“This is your church, my Lord,” said the woman, the reverence clear in her voice. “We’re your flock. We searched for you for so long.”

“Years,” called someone from the crowd, and numerous murmurs of agreement followed.

Hearing these words, Castiel felt his blood recede from his skin, leaving him clammy and frigid in a way he hadn't been since the ravine. Yet again, his sins came home to roost.

He closed his eyes and attempted to fight through the weariness and his steadily escalating horror, to wrangle his mind into working order. They’d done something to him; used Enochian symbols on him, most likely, but he was too weakened and disorientated to tell what they were and where they were. Regardless, he needed to get himself together and provide these people an explanation. They were owed that. They’d been deceived into thinking him God, _thinking_ him someone worthy of that title, and it looked like they’d dedicated a significant part of their short lives to perpetuating this lie.

“I’m not God,” he told them, which seemed as good a start as any.

“But you’re _our_ God,” said a young man kneeling at his feet, leaning so far over that it’d take just a brush to send him toppling into Castiel's legs. The enthusiasm of their worship made Castiel’s insides twist. “We heard your messages, that you were the new God and that you were here for us, unlike the old one,” continued the man, growing steadily more fervent. “We documented everything we could, made it our new gospel-“

“Stop,” said Castiel, unable to tolerate another word of reverence and sickened by the ones he'd already been subjected to. “I was never God, and I am not God now. I was not myself when those events occurred."

“I know you don’t want to hear it,” said the woman cradling him, her free hand coming to settle in his hair. Castiel grimaced at the contact, wishing to twist out from under it but lacking the strength to do so. “You’re weak right now, we know. But the black-eyed men gave us a ritual to empower you again, and then you can get back to cleansing the world and guiding your flock.”

Demons. Of course. He wasn’t surprised to hear that they’d had a hand in this. There were few others educated in means to subdue an angel, and fewer still who would _want_ to get on the bad side of one. The angels might’ve been weakened by the fall, but they still had power enough to deal with most threats.

“They’re demons,” Castiel began, but the woman interrupted him.

“We know,” said the woman. “ _Your_ demons. You’ll lay claim to them again once we’ve empowered you.”

They thought him the next Lucifer. A small voice inside him, full of self-loathing and doubt, told him they weren’t far off the mark.

It took every ounce of strength he had to rise enough to address the whole room. There were people occupying every stretch of space; crammed together on seats, squeezed into corners, watching on the balls of their feet from the church doorway. All grown men and women, he noted, so whatever this ‘empowering’ ritual of theirs was, it must not have been child appropriate. If he’d had to guess, it probably had something to do with sacrifice- that was the sort of thing demons would guide a congregation into for a laugh. He didn't see any knives poking out of pockets or waistbands, but that didn’t mean there weren’t any.

When a tremor ran the length of his arms, the red-haired woman was quick to sit herself behind him, uncomfortably close, but this would at least ensure he wouldn’t go crashing to the floor before he could finish speaking. A hush fell over the crowd.

“Listen to me,” he said slowly, sweeping his eyes over the congregation. There were so many happy, hopeful faces that he could barely stand to look at them at all, but they might dismiss him if he didn’t display conviction in his words. “Those demons were never my charges, and I was never your God. I gained strength from a source that nearly killed me, and if it had, it was what I would have _deserved_ for trying to be God.”

As he spoke, he thought of the penance he’d performed, of purgatory, and the damp earth and humid air and ever-present odour of death remained so vivid in his memory that if he’d closed his eyes, he might have felt himself there.

“You’ve been misled by my enemies,” he pressed on. “And I’m sorry for my part in that. You deserve better than this from me, from my brethren, from my father. I'm sorry I can't be what you need.”

The congregation probably though themselves discreet when they started speaking amongst themselves, some whispering words of disbelief, others of frustration, but Castiel’s celestial hearing picked up every word. Not one of them was agreeing with him. They’d been painstakingly groomed for this moment, and Castiel’s words just weren’t penetrating years of indoctrination.

He tried desperately to rise higher, to reach out and demonstrate a miracle, because that was usually compelling for humans, but he lacked the strength for even something basic. Whatever these Enochian symbols were, they weren’t the most potent ones available, but they were certainly a pain, something that would take considerable struggling to overcome.

“Everything will be just fine once we’ve finished the ritual,” said the woman. Castiel almost groaned. “We’ll continue as planned. He’ll understand once we’ve empowered him, just like the black-eyed ones said. Don’t be discouraged.”

“We aren’t,” cried a few people, and any ruminative conversation was swept away in the growing excitement.

The ritual was starting, and Castiel could see that words weren't going to be enough to prevent it. He needed to break the sigils.

Swivelling his head in a slow circle, Castiel first checked the ceiling and walls for symbols, then inspected what little of the floor wasn't occupied by a body. He could just make out some warding sigils beneath peoples feet, which were crumbling in a way that made it apparent they’d been written in blood. If they were using warding sigils while he was _in_ a location it was no wonder he was feeling so weak and ill. They should not, however, have prevented him from leaving the location; they _repelled_ angels, after all. There had to be something else.

As he twisted to look beyond the woman cradling him, his sleeve fell back from his wrist and he spied a hint of red. Shaking both his coat and shirt back, he realised they’d put what amounted to shackles on him in neat lines of blood. He looked down at his other wrist and found the same symbols there. There were more, he was sure, but if he broke these two, he knew he’d have enough power to free himself and run.

“Light the ceremonial candles and incense,” said the woman.

Castiel paid her no mind, grinding his wrists against the floor with as much force as he could muster. The scent of bee’s wax and Damascus Rose filled the air.

“Is the basin ready? Oh, there it is. Good. Put it near the altar.”

One of the sigils broke and Castiel found himself rejuvenated enough to dive his hand into his other sleeve, scraping his nails over the flimsy sigils there. When he found the demons responsible for these bindings he was going to tear them several new orifices.

“Castiel!” the woman shouted, and there went any head start he might've had. She made a grab for his wrists, but even drawing on a of scrap power he was still able to brush her away and stumble to his feet. Further hands shot out after him as he moved toward a side exit and those proved harder to brush away, numerous as they were, all gripping and pulling and digging in with their nails.

“Release me,” he snarled, hoping to intimidate them into compliance. It didn’t do him any good.

“Quick, quick,” shouted the woman, throwing herself around his knees and sending him stumbling deeper into the grip of the mob. “We’ll do things out of order! The manacles!”

Those manacles came to snap around his wrists before she’d even finished speaking. Within an instant, what little power he’d recovered was torn from him, sending his knees slamming to the earth and a shock of pain reverberating through them. Castiel barely bit back a shout, but he made no attempt to stifle the aggrieved groan that followed. He'd been so close. So close-!

“Oh, thank goodness,” said the woman, her relief such a stark contrast to Castiel's distress that it was almost comical. “Thank goodness. Thank goodness.” She reached out, fingers flittering over Castiel’s jaw, and Castiel flinched away. She was undeterred. “Right, lets continue.”

A pair of strong hands curled around his biceps and hauled him upright, dragging him bodily to the back of the room, where a broad marble altar surrounded by a crescent of flickering candles awaited him. A cross stood just behind it, bright gold and intricately decorated, and the fact it’d been erected in his name made Castiel’s gut clench. He twisted in his captors grip in preparation to give them another desperate, beseeching speech, only to clamp down on his words when he saw their distinctly inhuman visage.

At the recognition, a smile curled on the demon's lips.

“Did you enjoy your little escape attempt?” asked the demon, dropping Castiel unceremoniously on the altar. With his wrists bound together, Castiel wasn’t able to catch himself, his chest landing heavy on the unforgiving marble and sending all his breath wheezing out. An angel couldn’t suffocate, but that didn’t mean a lack of oxygen wasn’t uncomfortable. “I thought it’d be funny to watch you try, and my, was I right.”

“How many of you?” asked Castiel, his efforts to study the crowd halted by the demon flipping him over and arranging him until he lay with his back and thighs draped across the altar. His legs hung over the end.

“Enough that you wouldn’t notice,” said the demon. He attached each of Castiel’s ankles to additional manacles on the sides of the altar, then slid the chain of his wrist restraints onto a hook protruding from the floor. “And enough that you wouldn’t have gotten out of here even if you had broken those sigils," he added.

Around them, the congregation began to chant in Enochian, the nonsense words they’d been provided proving a pretty little hymn. 

“How many people are here, do you think, angel?” asked the demon.

Castiel didn’t answer, because he knew exactly where this question was leading and he didn’t want to face it. 

“Hundreds,” said the demon, whispering his next words directly into Castiel’s ear. “And they pledged their souls to us in your name. Every single one of them. Quite a bounty, isn’t it?”

The saliva in Castiel’s mouth suddenly felt very thick.

“Bet that hurts something terrible,” said the demon, laughing. “But you can at least die knowing you were beat by the best hell has to offer.”

The demon scraped its nails down Castiel’s sides, his hot breath ghosting over Castiel’s cheek. Even Castiel's best efforts to remain still weren’t enough to prevent a shudder of disgust. He could smell the sulphur thick in the demons every exhale.

“You’re looking at hell’s future king. Crowley hasn’t really taken to the role, you see, and it’s about time someone ousted him.”

“People have already tried,” ground out Castiel. “And failed.”

“Sure,” said the demon. “But what did _they_ bring to the table before attempting a coup? Shit all.”

A broad, toothy smile slithered onto the demon’s lips as he reached down between them, applying the cool edge of a blade to Castiel’s hip. Though Castiel didn’t want to look, he was compelled to when the blade was sawed through his trousers, his chin jostling against his clavicle in his haste to see exactly what the demon was doing.

“Why are you-?” The demon cut him off before he could finish.

“Hush,” he said. “I’m trying to gloat.” He pulled the tatters of Castiel’s trousers out from under him and threw them aside, speaking all the while. “Once I return to hell with the Winchester’s pet angel’s dead and several hundred new souls – souls of God’s faithful, no less - people are going to be _clamouring_ to get me on the throne."

Castiel’s underwear was next to be torn into, and Castiel’s face turned a furious red – in both anger and embarrassment – as his intimates were exposed.

“And that’s not even mentioning all the _other_ efforts I’ve gone to to demonstrate my suitability,” said the demon. “Certainly more than _Crowley_. He just looks bored by the position, these days.”

His shoes and socks were next to come off, leaving his lower body unveiled and vulnerable. Bile coated the back of Castiel’s throat. An entirely too human response to what was happening, but he couldn’t suppress it, was too weak and scared to.

The demon extended an arm and the red-haired woman placed a beautifully painted ceramic basin in his hand. He sat it on the floor, against the end of the altar, and that it was positioned at the end closest to Castiel's intimates made it apparent what it was meant to collect. Castiel willed his lips not to tremble as he turned his head away from the crowd, facing the wall with his eyes and mouth pinched shut.

This couldn’t be happening. This couldn’t be happening.

“Hey, lighten up,” said the demon, laughing. “Of all the ways to die, I’d say after being fucked by an entire room of sycophants is right up there.”

Castiel didn’t respond. His blood had turned to ice at the mention of _entire room_. The prospect of being fucked once against his will had been bad enough- hundreds of times was an incomprehensible horror, and he was about to experience it. It took everything he had no to let his surging panic overwhelm him.

Warm, calloused hands closed over his thighs, spreading them further apart and baring his most intimate area to the warm air. Castiel wound himself as tight as he could to stop himself from trembling. He’d had sex exactly once in his life, and that had been such a brief event that it in no way prepared him for what was to come. They hadn’t even begun and he already wanted to sob.

He wouldn’t do it. He couldn’t give them that satisfaction. If he was going to die here after being put through such an immense violation, he wanted to take at least a scrap of dignity to the beyond with him.

He heard rustling fabric and then jolted as a needle slid smoothly into his thigh. “This’ll help you loosen up,” said the demon, injecting a liquid that stung as it weaved its way into his veins. Another needle was slipped in, and then another, each empty syringe clattering to the floor after use. He ceased counting after the third one. They clearly knew of his resistance to toxins.

What exactly ‘loosen up’ entailed became clear when his skin began to flush and his cock stirred. Whatever drugs he’d been given exacerbated his nausea and disorientation, but it also brought with it a pleasant sensitivity and arousal. The mere graze of fingers over his navel elicited a moan.

They were going to make him enjoy this, he realised, horrified. As though being raped repeatedly wouldn't have been mortifying enough on his own.

“There,” said the demon. He heard something a lid flick open, then the sound of pouring and the hiss of a zipper. “Bet you’re a virgin. Christ, being the first one in your tight ass is gonna be a popular story at parties. Might even tell your little human buddies at some point. How do you think they’ll take it?”

“You wouldn’t survive the encounter.”

Castiel’s eyes snapped back open.

“But lucky for me,” said Crowley, standing directly behind Castiel’s assailant, who’d discarded his bottle of oil and was attempting to grab a knife and zip himself back up at the same time. “I got here first.”

“Crowley,” was all the demon managed to say before Crowley had slammed a blade deep into his chest and given it a vicious, punishing twist. He was a little more practical than his brethren; they would have monologued first.

Screams erupted from the crowd and some chose to run from this display, while others attempted to leap at Crowley and were thrown back with a flick of his wrist. When finally Crowley seemed satisfied with the pain he’d inflicted, he tossed the lax body of the demon aside and watched dispassionately as it went sprawling to the feet of the red-haired woman, who whimpered in dismay.

The crowd rapidly thinned, and Crowley stepped before the altar to snarl at any who remained: “Leave!”. Any humans that attempted to linger were flung out the stained-glass windows, while any demons were either stabbed or shot. No one attempted to return. The moment all the bodies had either vacated or been forced to vacate the building, Crowley dropped to his haunches to pat down his attempted usurpers coat, making a frustrated sound when he didn't come up with whatever it was he was looking for.

“Aren’t you a lucky one, Feathers,” he said, stepping back up to the altar and throwing a fold of Castiel’s trench coat over Castiel’s arousal, which was currently sticking up high and red in the air. The rough drag of fabric over such a sensitive area drew a harsh breath and a tremble from Castiel. “You were a hairs breadth away from, well…” Crowley pressed his lips together. “You’re polite company, on occasion, so I’ll spare you a description.”

“Thank you,” said Castiel, the tension steadily draining out of him. All that fear and all that horror fell away, and he was surprised to identify the feeling that had taken its place as safety. With _Crowley_.

Wonders never cease.

He shook his manacles. “I could use further assistance.”

“I can see that,” said Crowley. He touched his fingers to one of the manacles, examining it a moment before setting his knife against a symbol and beginning to saw. “Competitions getting smarter," he murmured, then cocked an eyebrow at Castiel. “Or you’re getting dumber. How exactly did you end up here?”

“Fell into some kind of trap,” said Castiel, too dazed to argue the insult. This close to Crowley, he could feel the mans heat, and it didn’t repel him the way the other demons had. He unconsciously leaned toward it, and Crowley watched him curiously as he did.

With the severing of the symbols, the manacle snapped open of its own accord and fell useless to the floor. Castiel couldn’t do much with only one limb free, so he simply lay it down his middle, covering his intimates- and then jerked it away with a groan at how very sensitive his cock was, the barest pressure feeling too much.

“Castiel.” Crowley raised a hand to Castiel’s flushed cheek, directing his hazy gaze up. Castiel turned his face into the contact. “They gave you an aphrodisiac, didn’t they?”

“Obviously,” said Castiel, failing to look or sound as wry as he’d intended. He was too distracted with wrestling against the urge to rub himself into Crowley’s palm like an over-affectionate cat.

“Still got some wit about you, at least.” Crowley gently disengaged and started on his opposite wrist, sawing with greater urgency.

He watched Crowley's progress through half-lidded eyes, finding it difficult to focus with his mounting arousal. He was still cognisant, for the most part, but his body was involuntarily warming and his cock swelling and his hips gyrating against nothing. He saw Crowley’s eyes trail to his mid-section and the mans adams apple bob.

The second cuff came off, then the last two. As Castiel fumbled his way into a sitting position, it didn’t escape either of their notice that he had further Enochian symbols peeking out from under his shirt.

“Now, that’s just excessive,” said Crowley, annoyed.

Castiel attempted to scratch the scrawl away only to start shuddering as he applied his nails. Even a _scratch_ felt good. Whatever aphrodisiac they’d dosed him with, they’d given him far too much – probably on purpose.

Crowley ran a hand down his face before reaching beneath Castiel’s shirt to break the symbols himself, which drew violent, jumping shudders and sounds Castiel would later be embarrassed about having made.

“If your pestiferous little troupe hadn’t infected me with scruples, this would be the best day of my damned life,” muttered Crowley.

Castiel could hear the arousal in his own voice clear enough that he recognised it immediately when it started to infiltrate Crowley’s. He looked down and Crowley tapped his chin back up before he could get more than a brief eyeful of Crowley’s tented trousers. Crowley looked big, he thought vaguely. Wasn’t entirely sure why that was important, but he held onto that knowledge all the same.

“I could use…” Castiel lightly touched his knuckles to his sweltering forehead, which didn’t help because his knuckles were equally as hot. “Further help.”

He knew whatever reservations he had about sleeping with Crowley were being smothered by arousal, but he also knew this _had_ to be dealt with and he was ever a practical man. Frankly, if he were to sleep with any demon, Crowley would have been his first choice. Which was a spectacularly odd and awkward thing to realise, but he was currently sitting hard and half-nude before said demon, so spectacularly odd and awkward was the theme of the day, at least where Crowley was concerned.

Crowley cleared his throat. “Of what kind?” he asked, voice strained.

“Have sex with me,” said Castiel, and Crowley looked almost physically pained.

"You're not thinking straight," said Crowley, closing his eyes. "And it _kills_ me to say that." Raising a hand, he snapped his fingers.

Castiel landed with a thump on a plush blanket that was spread atop an equally as plush mattress. The impact vibrated through his entire body, eliciting a series of breathy noises and sending his vision spinning. Beside him, Crowley cursed and slid off the side of the bed, which Castiel dazedly noted was of the canopy variety, its red curtains spilling thick on every side. At the end of the bed, they parted just enough for Castiel to see into the rest of the room, and he watched Crowley flittering around, grabbing things from drawers and holding them to his chest with a forearm.

“Crowley,” he said, licking his lips and swallowing. “What’re you doing?”

“Grabbing supplies.”

After a few minutes that felt painfully long to Castiel, Crowley shouldered his way back onto the canopy bed and deposited an armful of items at Castiel’s feet. Castiel didn’t recognise any of them. One, however, was clearly a phallus, which he tentatively picked up before looking inquisitively to Crowley.

“Whatever you’ve been dosed with, it’ll wear off eventually.” Crowley tilted his head toward the items. “And that’s to keep you, mmm… ‘comfortable’, in the meantime.”

Castiel frowned, processing. “We aren’t going to have sex?”

Crowley’s teeth closed over his bottom lip and he looked Castiel up and down, eyes lingering on his arousal, but that was all the indulgence he allowed himself. “While I’m usually a great fan of being peoples morning regret, I’ll spare you. You’ve had a rough day.” He gestured beyond the curtains. “Once you’re done here, there’s plenty of trousers in the wardrobe. I even had them ironed recently.”

“I don’t know how to use the things you’ve given me,” said Castiel raggedly, which was true, and he was also aware he would struggle to use any of them by himself in his current state. He closed a trembling hand around one of Crowley’s wrists to ensure he wouldn’t leave. “Just…” He gestured helplessly at the items he’d been provided to facilitate relief. “Help me.”

Crowley inhaled long and loud through his nose and let his head drop low, as though praying to hell to strengthen his resolve. “That’s what I’m _trying_ to do. You don’t want this. Not from me, and I’ve only just managed to nudge myself out of your shit list, so I’m not about to sabotage my efforts in pursuit of a little satisfaction.”

“I’m being practical,” said Castiel, squeezing his eyes shut to will some self-control, to get his thoughts in order. He could see he wasn’t going to get what he needed until Crowley was sure he wasn’t doing something that would irrevocably ruin the relationship they’d developed. Who would have thought the few scruples Crowley had would ever end up a source of frustration. “I want you to help me, Crowley,” said Castiel. “I’m not so far gone that I can’t make that decision.” He tugged Crowley closer, shook as Crowley’s knees brushed his own and the mans hand steadied itself against his hip. He needed this. “ _Please_.”

“Well,” said Crowley, breathless. “Not even a _Saint_ could resist that.”

With permission thoroughly and explicitly granted, Crowley wasted no time in easing Castiel to the mattress and scooping up one of the items. The feel of Crowley's hands on him brought Castiel's arousal to such a peak that he struggled to alight his eyes on whatever it was Crowley had grabbed, and certainly wasn't able to puzzle out what it might be once he had.

“Vibrators, darling,” Crowley helpfully informed him, flicking on each little pink nodule and bringing them closer to Castiel’s face. True to their namesake, they vibrated, their movement bouncing the wire to which they were all attached. Castiel stared at them, mesmerised. “I’m going to set you up for a very memorable few hours.”

The vibrators dropped away and Castiel followed their journey down between his legs, where Crowley proceeded to wrap them neatly around his cock- and the sensation they provided was so overwhelmingly good that Castiel unravelled like a pulled bow the very moment they made contact. He tore his fingers into the bed sheets, threw his head back, dug his heels into the mattress and took wild, gasping breaths that had moans and groans and whines and cries travelling along them. All the while, Crowley watched him from between his trembling legs, a presence Castiel barely remembered was there through the waves of pleasure.

Stimulation of his cock alone would have been sufficient, but Crowley always went the extra mile, and he plucked the phallus off the bed, flicked it on, and whatever he did next Castiel missed because he was too busy scrabbling at the bed sheets as his euphoria drew him closer and closer to his finish. The next thing he knew, Crowley’s hand was on his and closing his fingers around the phallus, guiding the thick tip between his legs. It was dripping with something slick and pleasantly cool.

Castiel didn’t need to be told what to do. To push at the tight ring of muscle of his entrance came instinctively, though he was shaking so badly that it was a struggle to inch it past that initial barrier. To put anything in such a place had never even occurred to him before, but the fullness and stretch it would provide was suddenly at the forefront of his mind.

“Almost there,” murmured Crowley, and the sheer desire in his voice very nearly tipped Castiel over the edge. Ultimately, it took a little more than that; it took sliding that phallus half-way in, past yielding flesh and into the parts of him that had never before been excavated. The stretch and fullness was glorious in its own right, but it was the inadvertent nudging of a part of him he hadn’t known to be so sensitive that sent his body writhing and vision flashing black and white and come spilling onto his stomach. Whatever noise he made as his climax stormed through him was rendered inaudible by the blood rushing in his ears. He didn’t hear the ripping of bed sheets either, nor the swear Crowley gave in response, though he vaguely felt the blanket come away in strips as the fog of completion started to recede.

When he’d begun to sweat, he wasn’t sure, but the first thing he became conscious of was that his shirt was sticking to his chest. His skin prickled from the accumulated heat in various areas. He might’ve found it uncomfortable under different circumstances, but with a vibrator wedged deep inside him and numerous smaller ones stimulating his cock, discomfort simply wasn’t registering.

“There we are,” said Crowley appraisingly, his voice thick with arousal. “That should keep you until this wears off.”

Castiel tipped his head forward, regarding Crowley dazedly while the demon plucked some tissues from a breast pocket and wiped his fingers clean of lubrication. He started to vacate the bed and Castiel struck out to grab him before he could, wrapping his fingers tight around a handful of sleeve and shaking so hard that each one jostled its way through Crowley’s arm.

“Cas,” said Crowley, exasperated.

“Stay here,” he breathed, trying for demanding and ending up pleading instead. After everything that had happened, he didn’t want to be alone, not while so vulnerable, not while being rendered weaker still by his finishes, and Crowley’s presence was so pleasurable that he didn’t particularly want him to leave for that reason either, though that reason was secondary.

“Killing me,” said Crowley quietly, a divot developing between his eyebrows.

Castiel fought to find his voice again through his building pleasure. “St-stay here. Please.”

Crowley pressed a sigh through his teeth, but he still shuffled his way back onto the bed and lay himself down at Castiel’s side, where he would no doubt have a lovely view of Castiel’s cock and the phallus Castiel was holding inside himself. He shook his sleeve free with far too much ease and reached for Castiel, laying his hand light upon his chest, not stimulating – though the contact felt nice – but just touching, providing Castiel the intimacy he seemed to need. His thumb lightly traced the curve of a pec through his shirt and that alone was enough to drive Castiel over the edge again, his hips jolting into the air as he sullied his stomach a second time. The come soaked into his clothes and he didn’t care, his head descending once against into that thick, blissful state where he was too far gone to accommodate thought.

Apparently he had little refractory period to speak of, because it wasn’t long after he started coming down that he was hurtled over the precipice again by twitching his ass onto the phallus at just the right angle, driving it against his prostate in a new, delectable way. It was lucky torture took place within these walls, because the bellow he gave probably registered as normal to any other occupants of the building. The mumbled Enochian wouldn’t, but luckily, that was audible only to him and Crowley.

He didn’t know how much time had passed when finally the aphrodisiac started to fade, nor how many times he had come. The first thing he became aware of was how filthy he was. His clothes were wet with come and sweat, likely unsalvageable, or at least feeling that way, and his skin was sticky and itchy in various areas. He didn’t _need_ a shower, being an angel who could wash in an instant, but he rather felt like one right now just because his time as a human made him associate them with feelings of cleanliness. With trembling fingers, he removed the vibrators from his cock, closing his teeth over his bottom lip as he did, and then carefully inched out the phallus, collapsing upon the blanket the moment he was free of the stimulation.

On either side of him, he saw feathers spilling out onto what parts of the blanket he hadn’t rent to pieces. Those had been… quite explosive orgasms. He didn’t recall them being as violent with April, but then, as an angel, he did have a greater perception of sensation.

“Crowley,” he said, letting his head lull in the man’s general direction and finding Crowley stretched out in the exact same place he’d been hours ago.

“Ah, he returns.” Crowley betrayed some nerves by dropping his eyes and clearing his throat. “Still holding onto that ‘I want you here’ sentiment, or should I leave you to clean yourself up?”

“I’m not upset with you, if that’s what you’re wondering,” said Castiel. He was just tired and… comfortable, oddly enough. He wouldn’t have expected that considering what had proceeded his time in this room. “I told you to stay. You did.” He shuffled back until his shoulders were against the headboard and turned to Crowley with a greater alertness. “And I’m grateful, so thank you.”

“’Thank you’?” Crowley pushed himself upright shortly after Castiel did, sitting with one leg slung over the side of the mattress. “Well, that’s…” He seemed at loss for words, so Castiel saved him the trouble by continuing the conversation himself.

“You didn’t have sex with me while I was indisposed. I appreciate that too.” Pushing the folds of his remaining clothes aside, Castiel started to will the mess on them and his skin away. “And the rescue,” he added. “I have a lot to be grateful for, so you can stop worrying about me being angry with you.”

“Right, right. Of course. I’m just not used to you being so personable. Usually you have a stick right up-” Crowley broke off into a hum of laughter. “Though I supposed it might have slipped out after all that.”

Castiel scoffed, but he welcomed the teasing. Its familiarity soothed any lingering pains from his encounter with the cult, let him forget what had occurred, just for a little while. “You sound like a boor,” he admonished.

“I just watched you get off for-“ Crowley plucked his phone from a pocket and checked the home screen. “Three hours straight, so I think we’re well beyond being troubled by obscene language, Cassie.”

Three hours. It hadn’t felt that long, but then, he hadn't been cognisant for most of it.

Castiel looked down at himself, his body now clean and fresh and only the warmth of completion remaining. “You sat here watching me for three hours? Don’t you have duties to attend?”

“You asked me to stay,” said Crowley, shrugging. “Couldn’t very well abandon you after that, could I?”

“You could have,” said Castiel, never one to shy away from stating the obvious.

Crowley gave a very loud inhale and a very loud exhale. “You really need to learn how to identify rhetorical questions.” Before Castiel could pursue this topic any further, Crowley vacated the bed and started rifling through his wardrobe. “Right, lets find you something to wear that won’t stop above your ankles. I’m sure one of these will be adequate until you get your hands on something your size.”

“I could use a new shirt too,” said Castiel as he dragged himself to the edge of the bed in preparation to dress. His legs shook minutely, still recovering. “If you can spare one.”

Crowley glanced over his shoulder. “Might be a little big on you. I have a broader build.”

“I’ll survive,” said Castiel, dropping his hands to his shirt buttons. After the passing of a short, companionable silence, he asked: “Are there many demons vying for the throne?”

A snort. “Of course there are,” said Crowley. “The one things demons aren’t lacking is ambition, so I’m left dealing with a bloody insurgence every other week.” When he turned from his wardrobe, it was with a pair of pants, a vest, a belt, socks, dress shoes, some underwear, and a blue dress shirt folded over an arm, which was far more than Castiel had asked for, and he was grateful. It hadn’t even occurred to him that he would need all those other clothes. “Watching you unravel for three hours was a welcome reprieve, if I’m honest. I mean, better than any porn I’ve ever watched, that’s for certain.” He returned to the bed and extended the clothes to Castiel. “If these don’t fit, you’re out of luck.”

Castiel accepted the clothes and turned the navy-blue vest over in his hands, cocking an eyebrow at Crowley. 

“It’s about time you mixed up the outfit,” said Crowley brusquely, zipping away to slip his toys back into their respective hovels. Without cleaning them, but Castiel expected – or hoped, rather –he would get around to that later. 

He folded his ruined shirt into a neat square before pulling on the fresh one, finding it loose around the shoulders just like Crowley had warned him he would. It was frumpy on his slighter form, but still comfortable, and when he shrugged on the vest, that was snug enough to make the extra fabric less apparent. The underwear and trousers were next to come on, and the trousers were loose around his hips and ended just above his tibias, but the former problem was easily resolved with the belt. He tugged on the socks and shoes last and stepped out from under the canopy curtains, presenting himself to Crowley for inspection.

Crowley gave him an approving once-over. “I’m tempted to take a photo.”

“Don’t you dare,” said Castiel. He just knew such a photo would become Crowley’s new home screen.

Crowley’s mouth twitched into a smile. “Only you would be opposed to looking _nice_ for once. Not a perfect fit, but my, those shoes and vest become you.”

“Thank you,” said Castiel, smoothing down the vest with his hands. “I’m surprised you own something other than suits.”

“Unlike some people,” said Crowley, giving Castiel a pointed look. “I’m capable of varying my outfits, employing some creativity when I feel like it. No doubt the dirty trench coat look will resume the moment I’ve turned my back.”

He wasn’t wrong. Castiel preferred consistency.

Returning Crowley’s pointedness, he retrieved his trench coat from the bed and draped it over an arm. Crowley snorted.

“I miss the blue tie, honestly,” said Crowley. “It gave you a bit of much needed colour.”

“Not the first time I’ve heard that,” said Castiel, sounding thoughtful. “You didn’t like the striped one?”

“Garish.” Crowley gave his fingers a disapproving flick. “The solid blue one matched those pretty blues of yours perfectly.”

“I…” It was such a sincere compliment that Castiel didn’t know how to respond to it. From Crowley, those were rare. He was all about remarks that _sounded_ like compliments, but were intended to intimidate, insinuate something, or discreetly insult. “I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, at last.

“Good,” said Crowley. “I won’t keep you any longer. I expect Squirrel and Moose are wondering where you are and exchanging meaningful, manful looks across the bunker.” He slid his hands into his jacket pockets and tilted his head toward the exit, then, with an uncharacteristic tentativeness, he added: “You’re welcome to return, Feathers. Don’t be a stranger and all that.”

Castiel considered him for a long moment. “This was,” he said slowly. “A good end to a bad situation, and I need more of those.” He cleared his throat and gave his neck a quick, anxious rub with his palm. “You seem like you might be able to provide, and I might be able to provide some reprieve from your duties in turn, so I’ll… I'll drop in when I’m able.”

“That’s all I ask,” said Crowley. “I could even pick you up myself. You know how to reach me.”

Castiel looked at the floor, twisting his lips. “That would be faster,” he said, gesturing vaguely over his shoulder.

“They’ll be fixed eventually, I’m sure,” said Crowley. “You lot always manage to pull _something_ out of a hat, though I don’t mind ferrying you to this room in the meantime.” Winking at Castiel, he strode over to the door and flung it open. The hall beyond was quiet and dark. “Try to keep out of trouble, Cas.”

“You know I won’t,” said Castiel as he slipped out.

Through the drive to the bunker, his thoughts were honed on their parting conversation and what it promised. He hadn’t expected his thoughts to be anything but torrential after what he had experienced at the hands of the cult, after all the fear and doubt and self-loathing they had generated, but being extended affection and kindness seemed to have eased the burden of that trauma.

Before the last stretch of his journey to Lebanon, Castiel stopped at an Old Navy with a few crisp twenty-dollar notes in hand, which had been provided by Sam, who didn’t like him wandering around with no emergency resources when he was out on his own. He selected a few dress shirts and trousers in his size (his sizes being something Sam had also helped him figure out) before heading over to a rack of ties and selecting one that looked like an exact replica of his old tie. Holding it up to his neck in a nearby mirror, he recalled Crowley’s remark, smiled, and grabbed a few more to ensure he never ended up tieless again. Crowley would appreciate the effort, he was sure.


End file.
